I whip around, lifting my arm to throw him off. “Don’t. Touch. Me,” I say through gritted teeth, eyes narrowed.
I’m shaking with the amount of rage that flows through me. I’m so close to breaking free of all the restraints I put on myself.
“What’s your fucking problem?” Jace steps up to me, fire burning in his eyes.
“My fucking problem is you,” I spit back, squaring my shoulders.
Jace’s eyes narrow at me. “You best remember your place.” His voice lowers, a tone I recognize as danger to anyone else. But not to me.
“I’m not your dog to order around. I know all your posturing. Don’t forget that.”
“I’m not posturing. You’re acting out, and I want to know why.” His eyes scan over my face, looking for a crack he can wiggle into.
“Are we just throwing our morals out the window? Just going to trust daddy dearest all of a sudden?”
Jace’s jaw flexes, his shoulders stiffen. “You’re here under my father’s dime. Or have you forgotten that?”
“Oh no, I could never forget your dad paying for your own personal guard dog.” I turn, my fists balled so hard I’m convinced they’re stuck.
“I don’t need you to protect me.” Jace steps in front of me.
“Right.” I roll my eyes, trying to step around him again.
He steps into my path.
“You’re really asking me to punch you.” I growl.
“I’ll have you thrown out if you keep going after her,” he calls to my back.
I turn to look at him, keeping each movement controlled. “You’re going to throw away years of friendship over this girl?”
“Aren’t you doing the same thing?” Jace fires back.
“Fuck. You,” I grit out and turn back around.
I need to get away from him, this conversation.
“You’re compromised. I’ll send someone else to get information since you can’t even get her first task.”
I don’t respond. I don’t stop. Just keep walking.
I can’t allow him to send anyone else. They won’t protect her like I will.
I only hope she’ll forgive me for my sins.
19 GHOST
The morning starts like all the others. A too-cold shower. My hair pulled back into a ponytail. My uniform clinging to skin still tender from training. I check to ensure my door is locked like always, turning off the alarms on my phone. My boots echo down the dorm hall as I head toward the main building.
At first, I don’t notice anything different. The whispers? Normal. The stares? Expected. This school thrives on spectacle, and I’ve been the main event since I arrived.
But then— I see the first one. Taped to the hallway bulletin board, between club flyers and weekend notices.
A black-and-white photo.
My face. Swollen eye. Split lip. Bruising. My face sunken in like a Tim Burton character.
I turn and see more black-and-white photos slapped on the walls.
